But Facebook, Do I Have to Remember?

If you're on Facebook, which even Mama H is these days (can you believe it?!), then you probably get reminded all the time of pictures you posted on this date in years past. I think someone in California was like, how can we force people to look at other people's weddings and babies over and over and over again without the original poster being even more obnoxious than they already might be.

So, issue #1 - if I already liked the picture in the past I don't know if it makes me a bad person not to like it again however many years later. I mean, some posts are hilarious or over the top precious, and it is interesting to see time flying for things like first days of school and such. But honestly, that's not always the case.

Issue #2 though is that Facebook has decided to remind me, at least once a week, that I used to be in this giddy, adorable relationship. The kind that makes you post cute photos of you and your boyfriend/fiance/spouse doing cutesy date activities because you're so darn happy and it will never end.

Now I don't negate the happiness. Read the blog. I was head over heels enamored for a very long time. I just sometimes wake up and remember the state JG and I have now found ourselves in and the last thing I want to do is see how awesome we were. I'm glad we were. I truly am. I love our history and our beginning and more than anything I love these crazy, awesome. adorable. ridiculous boys we created together. They're the absolute best ever. I will always be thankful I fell in love in New York and took a risk on the man I married because all the heartache is still worth it. And, as evidenced in the flashbacks, most of it for a very long time was not heartache. It was bliss and comfort and companionship.

So maybe there's a button that a younger millennial can show me to avoid the barrage of happy memories? Or maybe part of moving on and adapting to change is learning how to accept the past being launched at your face when you'd really rather be mindlessly scrolling and liking happy babies and weddings and vacation getaways.

I don't know.

Either way, it's not like it would help me forget the dates that matter over the summer and fall months. I mean, I still remember birthdays of kids I went to elementary school with. I'm not going to forget August 15th. November 12th. September 6th. Or September 4th or 5th or the other September 6th that eventually led to February 6th. Maybe this whole elephant brain is gonna get me year after year even if I do take a Facebook hiatus.

But when I invent my time machine - along with unsending quite a few emails, being way more thoughtful with certain college decisions, finding the cross streets of the bar from spectacle night, and spending more time with Mom-Mom that final year - I'm going to insert a bunch of ridiculous posts on Facebook to be seen only by me, so that when I return to the present 2017 I can be reminded of cute things like rabbits and pigs napping together, clouds that look like unicorns, me sleeping eight hours uninterrupted and so on. Facebook can remind me of that as much as it wants. I'll smile as I start my daily scroll. I won't repost unless it's over the top adorable. And when I'm ready for all the emotions, then I'll click on old albums or return to old blog posts here to relive the magical and heart-wrenching story of my first great love.

Art and Life

These days people ask me a lot how I'm doing. Not everyone knows, and most who do know only the tiny bit I've shared with the public. It's just a simple greeting that's often followed immediately by "How was your summer?"

Typically I answer with "fine," or "too short" or "hanging in there, getting used to the new place." But sometimes I'm tempted to be super honest and return with "devastating and refreshing and confusing and the hardest right choice I've ever had to make." Or maybe I can get straight to the point by returning with a question of my own: "Have you ever seen The Last Five Years?" I mean, it's not a perfect analogy, but it might get the point across.

And while I'm on the topic of divorce-related entertainment, I've been watching Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce on Netflix lately. If you're concerned, I promise I'm not actually using it as a guide or reference source or anything more than post kid-bedtime amusement. I mean, it takes place in Hollywood and is nothing like my current situation. At least, I'm pretty sure I didn't turn into a best-selling author overnight and JG hasn't gone from lamenting my choice in television programming to hooking up with a CW actress half his age.

There are some points they do get right in the show. The question mark of writing truthfully about something as raw as losing a love you once relied upon for stability and certainty in the world. The first nights without the kids. The way that committing to change can still feel wrong even when it feels right. That dream of a "good divorce." And also how there's something that happens when you go through relationship trouble that allows people around you that you assume are happy in their own relationships to share the crap going on behind the scenes past or present.

And that element reminds me of when I decided to start talking about wanting a baby and I realized how many women struggled for the same thing. I felt so alone until I encountered all the other voices saying "me too." And now I'm a voice that says, to a certain degree, I've been there, at least enough to understand the emotion, even if not the full complexity of your individual situation. Because the most painful experiences of our lives shouldn't be the topics most closed off in the world. Shouldn't the hardest trials we deal with be the ones for which we get the most support? Not shameful secrets that we pretend aren't happening as we go about our daily tasks of just making it through?

Now that school is back up and running a coworker (and also an Ivy grad woman of color) was discussing a babysitting issue with me. She asked if I was married - probably because in our discussion of who would watch the boys for back to school night I didn't mention their dad as someone I'd asked - I decided to just let her know I was separated. Her first reaction was "I'm sorry," and then quickly she said, "Well, maybe I shouldn't be? If it's right. When I was separated I wanted people to be happy for me for getting out of a terrible marriage." We didn't dwell on it, but I thanked her. Not just for sharing about herself, but for so openly accepting how complicated it is when a marriage is ending. I mean, no one goes into marriage thinking it will end. But no one gets out of it if they were truly altogether happy in it either. I don't know that I want people to be happy or sad or any emotion on my behalf. This is just where I am now.

Something broke, so we're apart. Quite possibly forever. And coming to terms with that truth is a journey I've not yet completed. But in this stage here, I'm ok. And wherever I end up I'll be ok too. Even if it isn't my current best case scenario dream. I don't need movies or TV shows to tell me that.

And until I know where my journey is going to end, relationship wise, I'll keep working hard and playing hard and figuring out how to take a decent selfie.

May and Me

I've been trying to practice intentional self care these past few weeks. (Don't I sound so in touch with my 2017 self in that sentence?) For real though, I know there are plenty of self-help books to tell me how to navigate the incredibly emotionally exhausting roller coaster of likely divorce, but none of them are actually written just for me and my marriage so it's still a lot of trial and error.

You know, like how I spent the first full weekend J-Man got with the kids alternating between watching Thirteen Reasons Why and packing all his things - therefore obsessing over memories in certain clothes and sobbing over tucked away love notes. That was a rough forty-eight hours...

Instead, I've been using the month of May to avoid sliding into depression or terrible binge teen tv-watching by keeping busy. First there was  SA's wedding (I guess I should call her Dr. S, or really double Dr. S with the whole MD/PhD amazingness she has going on). Then a friend invited me to a hot yoga class. I should clarify it wasn't technically bikram because the thermostat only read 99 degrees but that's hot to me. And despite having to occasionally take breathing breaks in child's pose, I was pretty impressed with how well I rocked those 75 minutes. Also all the cheesy yoga talk about feeling open and refreshed and centered really applied. So the next week I bought a yoga mat and my first official pair of yoga pants and have been trying out videos in my living room since. Even the boys have gotten in on the action.

A different weekend I went to visit FR in New York. Sadly EK wasn't there since she is a a professional wedding attendee (or so it seems) but FR and I had plenty to keep us chatting. Our lives may not be mirror images, but I know I found it therapeutic and comforting to talk and talk and walk and eat and talk the whole time. She shared a favorite breakfast spot with me and I shared a favorite with her from my and DrDrSA's time in NYC - only 2.5 blocks from FR! - and we mutually indulged in our love of Central Park and Broadway. The musical we saw was War Paint, and those impressive voices almost made us dip into Sephora to buy some face cream. Then we decided that until we're real make-up wearers, we'll save our cash and pray the wrinkles appear slowly and gracefully.

This weekend, while I didn't expressly celebrate fallen soldiers, I did hang out with veteran Big O and KB's family for a fantastic cookout. I also did a 24 hour trip to Winchester where the boys got their rural activity fill by burning trash, riding the Gator, walking to the mailbox with Granddad, and checking on the garden.

Today we hit up a favorite A-town spot and watched the planes take off above our heads. They love the loud noise and the feeling like you can reach up and touch the giant jet-liners.

That and tossing rocks in the river, quacking at ducks, waving at turtles, and making new friends. For me it was a nice break from their recent need to be Captain Underpants. All. Day. Long.

All this to say that I didn't magically flip a switch on my birthday and stop feeling sad or crying, but May's been good. I'm being good to myself. So here's hoping June's more of the same, if not better.

Good Riddance, 32

Guess who just finished celebrating her first solo birthday with her first solo wedding! That's right, this woman right here.

 (I was gonna write "this girl" but at 33, it's time I call myself a woman, I think.)

Now, I can't say that I survived the birthday weekend unscathed. I mean, I did sob while driving through the pouring rain at 8am after dropping off the boys, but a phone call to Big Sis and reassuring texts from KB and other friends helped keep it the only real cry of the day.

With that behind me I ventured out to get my hair relaxed at a new salon. And no, I haven't dyed the gray yet. Despite lots of people asking me. Just so you know, I don't plan on changing my mind any time soon, but feel free to keep asking. Seriously. The endless inquiries make me feel amazing. So young. So beautiful. So treasured for my intellect and personality. Can you tell how much I love being judged for something my body is doing naturally? I'm looking at you, random man at Target who felt the need to know if all that gray was real. Awesome.

Less sarcastically, I ate at the bar in Olive Garden while reading another Liane Moriarty novel and it was pretty fantastically self-indulgent.

So with my hair done and lasagna enjoyed I joined KB and O and hit the road to wild and wonderful WV for SA's wedding. There was a moment during the rehearsal when I realized I'd be walking down the aisle to the same song I walked down my own wedding aisle to and my eyes welled on instinct, but remembering it was SA's day and she is an incredible and wonderful friend, I told my emotions to save the pity party for another weekend and pushed through.

After that moment I honestly forgot it was my birthday for hours. We ate and laughed and crossed our fingers the weather would stay warm and sunny for Saturday (spoiler: it didn't). At the end of the night, back in the amazing cabin that we hope to revisit in September - according to Big O we will definitely be back, and fishing, with the little ones - we ate birthday cookies and it sunk in that I was 33.

The next day there were only tiny moments of heartbreak that sneaked in. I knew they would. I breathed them in and exhaled them back out. I accepted hugs from kind friends old and new, and I danced. A lot. With a confidence I owe to J-Man and eleven years of him insisting we always be on the dance floor within minutes of it being opened to the crowd. I wished I had someone to dance with. Then a new song would come on and I'd shoo that thought away and keep dancing.

I kept dancing.

And dancing.

And dancing.

Until the band packed up and we were the final twelve or so folks on the floor.

It kept my body warm in the crazy-cold, see-your-breath, wear-a-coat-through-dinner, night.

It kept my heart warm to be in motion. To cling to the songs about love and happiness and celebration, even if they all didn't feel 100% like current anthems.

SA's wedding was beautiful, and deserves more of a post than this, but what I realized about myself through the weekend is that for my 33rd year, I'm ready to be a doer. I'm ready to say yes. I'm ready to take the confidence I learned in the early years with J-Man, braving the chaos of Harlem and NYCTF, two cross-country moves, the madness of questionable fertility, the juggling act of two under two, and keep pushing forward.

I'm going to say yes more this year.

Yes, I'm going to NYC in two weeks.

Yes, I plan to have applied to grad school by my next birthday.

Yes, I will be on that committee or go to this yoga class or help out with those activities.

Even, yes I will recognize that I need a good cry, YA book and early bedtime to recharge before continuing to say yes to something else.

Yes, I will be happy this year.

Good riddance, 32. You brought too much heartache. You left too many scars. You demanded too many tears and compromises and surrenders.

Hello, 33. Bring on your adventures. Show me your hidden surprises. Tempt me with your possibilities. Teach me what to do with this bowl of lemons because I'm ready for the pitchers and pitchers of lemonade now.

Bring. It. On.

My Heart: Act II

Friends,

It's been a long time since I've written because I haven't had the words to say. You see, last September my heart broke. In all honesty it was breaking beforehand, but as I understood it the whole fracture took place in a day. A hammer on stained glass. Scissors to a quilt. 

I thought afterwards that my heart must have stopped beating, and reflecting in the passing days I wondered how it could not have. It was a miracle. 

Lest you worry, physically I was fine. The boys were fine. Even J-Man was fine. I guess.

I don't really know how to discuss heartbreak here because there are always two sides, and if you're reading this I can only guarantee you mine. And I don't guarantee much of that because it's still my story, to be shared if and when I'm ready. It's my truth. It's a day that, however, did not manage to stop my heart.

In the months since then, my heart has proven time and again that it beats on. It races when I consider where to move or if that's right for me. Or for the kids. It races more when I think of starting at a new school and what changes that could bring. Or resentment. But then I hold my two sweet boys and wrap myself in the world of loving them. Cleaning nosebleeds and blowing bubbles and dancing to the music we choose. 

Of course, it speeds up again when I have to answer their tough questions about our family being forever. I tell them that their dad and I will love them more than anyone else, like we always have, and that our love is forever. In that way we will always be a family. 

It physically aches when they request the story of the prince and the princess. The one where the main characters both have castles in Harlem and meet at teaching school and get engaged in Central Park and give each other rings in front of friends and family to say they'll live happily ever after with their two little princes. PDG's timing on requesting that story is impeccably ironic. And also gut-wrenching.

The thing is, we changed part of the story. And then I changed how I tell the story. It used to be that was the end of it all. Now the two promise to love the princes forever, but one day decide to live in separate houses. I didn't think I could change it, and yet I did. 

I realized during one telling that just because the ending changed, it didn't actually alter anything else. The story is still full of happiness. The story is an outgoing, smart, and goofy guy falling for a polar opposite girl, and the two making a life together.

Of course I know that years from now I'll reread this entry and think of all I don't know yet. By then I'll know if I moved and where. If I got a different job in this school district. I'll know if someone else found me lovable, and if I learned to trust again enough to accept it. If I figured out how not to judge myself based on someone else's adoration. I'll know the myriad things I cannot even fathom that I don't know now.

I do know this, as I will in the future, my heart will keep beating. In eight months it has beat through a separation, a reconciliation, a #divorcemoon and yet another separation. It keeps going. And if I doubt that, I will channel the characters of my book, turn up some Ingrid Michaelson, and sing along with both MDG and PDG that "all the broken hearts in the world still beat." 

I'll keep doing the things I love. I'll write about the topics that hurt and scare me - both here and in my stories. I'll cry at times, but I'll smile more. I'll make new memories, adding more chapters to the story of my life. My heart will step into act II. 

So, here goes. Welcome to the journey.

NYC Revisited: Day One

Earlier this year a few girls in my first period class taught me all the wonders of Snapchat. This obviously made me feel old, but also brought me around to capturing the fun moments in life as they arise, writing all over them, and then adding stickers. Like this...

And while instagram is trying to steal the Snap thunder with their story feature, I've only just recently gotten the hang of these, and won't be converting to anything new too soon. So, since you probably aren't one of the four people who ever look at my snaps, let me use them to tell you a little about J-Man's and my trip back to NYC.

First off, it should be noted that Facebook reminded me that J-Man and I have been friends for ten years now. And that's pretty exact, because back in '06 I was pretty quick to add a friend right after meeting them in order to preserve that connection forever. I was in a brand new city, he was a crazy guy who invited me to see spectacles, we were both on a journey to make a difference and be grown-up teachers. Oh, and he had air conditioning.

Ten years later we were back to see another Teaching Fellow, E-Drizzle get married. We hopped on an Amtrak train, left the little guys behind, and set forth into nostalgia.

Within minutes of hailing our first cab (J-Man didn't want to subway and I felt weird using Uber in the world of yellow taxis) we remembered just how loud and smelly and hot and vibrant the city is. We dodged a street fair and multiple ambulances as we swerved our way to the Upper West Side to stay in our friend EK's lovely apartment. There we'd stay alongside another couple attending a different NYC wedding while EK and her husband were off at yet another wedding in Wisconsin.

Within the next hour we bumped into my friend V - who tends to disappear for months at a time - so it was pretty amazing that our paths crossed at all. We promised to catch up later and continued on our way.

E-Drizzle's wedding was lovely, even though we ended up inside rather than the outdoor park as they'd hoped. It was me, J-Man and two other former NYCTF English teachers and we hung out and talked books. My self-published one, another's upcoming poetry one, and another's currently in the query phase one. After some bouts of not feeling very accomplished in life lately, that conversation reminded me to snap out of it and enjoy the things that have made me happy. I wrote a book. It exists, imperfections and all, and it's ok to feel proud of that.

I proceeded to eat too much, meet new people, dance a bit, smile a ton, and have a fantastic time in the upstairs bar reception. The whole event was incredibly New York, and incredibly them and came along with the beauty of remembering my own vows in the place where I met the man I would love more passionately than I could have ever imagined.

cab ride home - 2016

cab ride home 2006

The day was wonderful, the company too, and it was only the first of the fantastic trip.

Valentine Surprise

I'm not really a surprise person.

J-Man doesn't believe me when I say this, and I think it's because I do love gifts. I mean, giving and receiving Christmas gifts is a thrill. I'm careful not to open trunks or closets or his email account starting at Thanksgiving just to be sure any sweet purchase he's planning isn't ruined before the big day.

Gifts are great.

It's the pre-announced, suspense-addled surprises that do me in.  If we're going somewhere, I want to know where, when, for how long, what to pack etc. Will it be just us? Who already knows what I don't know? Do they think I'll like the surprise? Am I expected to have a specific reaction? Are the kids involved? If not, who's going to take care of them?

Even when it was our honeymoon, a portion of wedding-planning I was fully willing to pass along to J-Man, I set some non-surprise parameters. I didn't need the resort name, but I did need the general location and departure/arrival dates and times. Once it was clear - Punta Cana/7days/fly out morning after wedding - I could continue in blissful ignorance. And I didn't even need to make the decisions for the big part. The DR was J-Man's choice, he just told me what it would be. And like any sun-loving fiancee, I was happy to indulge his Caribbean island goals.

So when I found out a few weeks ago that J-Man was planning something for Valentine's day, I got nervous. To his credit, he did offer to tell me what our activity would be at various points, but I kept feeling like that would somehow spoil his fun. He wanted to surprise me, was sure I would like it, and wanted me to trust his gift-giving success rate.

I tried to imagine what it could be. The last big surprise like this was when he and his friend O planned a trip for KB and me to go to Annapolis. It ended up a lovely weekend, but we were not into the anticipation leading up to the departure.

I figured this time it wouldn't be a trip. Maybe a show? Something kid-firendly? Especially since it didn't sound like he'd asked my family to babysit, and we'd been away from the kids all week. Perhaps we'd go to an indoor water park? After all, Great Wolf Lodge was a blast over the summer.

A few days prior to the big reveal, it did come out that it was a two-day activity. I almost told him to just tell me, but I didn't want to give in. Yes, my stubbornness shares some of the blame for this frustration, I know. Nobody's perfect.

Anyway, Saturday came and after five quiet mornings in a kid-free home, we awoke to coos and giggles and "I don't wanna get dressed. I don't wanna go potty. I want jelly beans" and so forth. J-Man left to gather the H Family and I dealt with a seemingly sick MDG and an off-his-routine PDG and headed to brunch. It was a nice brunch with Mama and Papa H, Big Sis and Uncle J, KB and her family and us G's. Well, except for MDG being so sick and clingy that he didn't eat a bite and clutched on to me the entire time.

When we left the restaurant we headed home to pack (turns out we were going out of town) and I finally broke down and demanded to know the plan. I wish I could say I was sweet and immediately appreciative. I wasn't. I was frustrated and my arms ached from MDG, and my head ached from worrying about him, and I just wanted to know what shows J-Man had in store for us for the weekend.

No shows.

We were heading back to.... Annnnn-apolis.

And, because I demanded no more surprises, I was told that once again O and KB would be there too.

Like last time, it was super cold, only this time both MDG and J-Man were sick, so it was J-Man with the naps in the hotel, me watching MDG run around destroying the hotel room, and sweet KB who offered to take PDG to play with Lil O by seeing boats, eating ice cream, and running laps in the lobby.

We went to Annapolis Smokehouse for a meat-lover's dream of a barbecue dinner, then both families put on pajama's at seven, watched some Nat Geo tuna-fishing til 8, and then all curled up for hotel snuggles like the family folks we are now.

Times have changed, especially bedtimes, but it was a perfect getaway. I don't think we'll double in size again over the next four years, but I do think we should do this again sometime. And maybe not as a surprise. Probably not in February either. But it's fun to realize what a gift your family is, big or small, when you're cuddled in comfy hotel beds you don't have to make or wash or fold.

Happy Valentine's Day J-Man. Thanks for helping me with these guys. Who knew a heart could love so much?

Miss L's California Wedding Weekend

I've told you all about how much I love weddings, right? I mean, every time I go to one I record it here. First of all, I usually dress up and try to look pretty for weddings, so I'm more likely to take pictures. Like this one here - I even wore makeup! When's the last time I took a picture without a child on my hip?!

This wedding was fantastic.  Really.  Yes, it was terrible being away from all three of my darling boys from Thursday night until practically Monday morning, but I found that whole saying about absence making the heart grow fonder to be true.  That, and I might've been distracted by the beautiful beaches.

So who got married?  Why Miss L - a longtime friend from high school.  Like too many friends, we seem to have missed living in the same city, as she moved west only a few months after I got to her former city. I sadly didn't get any good photos of the bride at the wedding - a mistake I make almost every time I attend one - but can tell you that she was stunning. Just trust me.

I got in a day early to make the most of this solo trip.  I got to sleep in until 4:30am (which is kinda sleeping in when you factor in the time difference) and then play around M&N's new apartment in San Fran.  I watched multiple episodes of a terrible ABC family show about a foster kid and her teen drama while M&N worked half day and packed.

The road trip was longer than I expected, but luckily these gals also love NPR and musical soundtracks so we were set.  That and N introduced me to Mary Lambert's Secrets which became the official background track of the weekend.

We stayed in an adorable cottage just minutes away from a beautiful California beach. All beaches are beautiful I guess, but the fact that my feet weren't burning in the sand, while my hair got to blow in the wind made it a little surreal in its beauty. We frolicked around with Miss F, all taking a billion photos, until it was finally time to get gussied up for the main event.

Miss L works for Google, so we were shuttled to the venue in fancy Google buses, then escorted up the golf course in chauffered golf carts. The scenery was breathtaking and the ceremony matched their personalities brilliantly.  I missed having someone's leg to squeeze during the serious moments, but it didn't keep me from getting all teary reflecting on my own vows from not that long ago.

Unsurprisingly the meal was delicious, the dancing long-lasting, and the details carefully attended for the rest of the evening.  Yes, we ate a lot of pie, sat cozy around woodfires, danced barefoot, and took silly photos with inside-joke hashtags.

Overall it was an amazing weekend with a beautiful reason to celebrate. And after it all, what a great week it's been to be back cuddling all my boys.

Six Years with J-Man

Six years ago my J-Man and I stood before our closest friends and family (quite possibly you) and vowed sweet and lovely things to each other. A hurricane was sweeping by, we were between careers and cities, a funk band was ready to rock out, and we were madly in love.

In the midst of wedding planning, we realized just how expensive every tiny detail is. They really tug at your heartstrings telling you that each cost is worth it because "you only get married once." Or, in most cases at least, you only marry that person once.

But videographers. What an expense! Over a thousand dollars for a videotape I'd never watch again?! J-Man and I agreed we'd skip that one, and splurge on the music and food instead. Thankfully, I happened to remember a friend whose parents had dutifully videotaped every race we'd ever run as track athletes in high school. Who better to ask to videotape one more PR?

Miss F and her parents graciously agreed, and soon after the wedding J-Man and I got the DVD of our big day.

We love it.

So now, every year, we curl up together and watch it in each other's arms. Despite being tear-free on that day, I can't get through our vows without big, sloppy tears anymore. I still laugh when J-Man says he'll put the toilet seat down, not put my good jeans in the dryer, and mow the lawn.

It's a wonderful feeling to know I love this man as much today as I did then.  It's a blessing to realize that I found a complement to my strengths and weaknesses while still so young.

I love that little video, and I love the opportunity it gives me, year after year, to squeeze my J-Man and let him know he's still the man I never knew I always wanted. And the best father I could imagine for our boys.

We snuggled, I cried, we smiled, and in our typical diminishing style, decided "eh, I'm in for one more year if you are."

Bring it on, year number seven.

Daff-i-dils

Flowers have been a big theme here in the G house this April.  I noted recently how J-Man sent me some beautiful flowers to my work.  And in that same post how little PDG has been noticing the blossoms and buds in the neighborhood on our walk to and from the park.

Well, let's just say that PDG is really into flowers.  Really, really into them.

After enough exclamations of "yellow flowers!" and "purple flowers" it seemed time to teach him new words.  Now, thankfully, this little boy can identify daffodils and tulips by name, and loves to tell me when he sees them.  It's kinda too cute.

This all makes me think of a time before kids, before even trying to have kids (so, yeah, wayyy back) that J-Man and I went on an adventure to northern Washington State.

It's probably obvious that it was the beginning of our marriage when a husband will do just about anything for his wife because it's all new and fabulous and a blessing (not that it isn't now.  it's just.  you know.  the beginning is just so nauseatingly wonderful it's remarkable). I was able to convince J-Man to drive hours just to see flowers.  Granted, it was a town full of fields and fields of flowers as far as you can see.... but it was still just flowers.

What was in it for him?  I think we bought some pickled carrots...?  Pickled something I'm sure. But not many because we were pretty poor.  That sweet, just-married, living-on-love kind of poor.  So I got to take pictures with flowers and J-Man got some sort of salty treat.  Some things about our marriage haven't changed I guess.

And I can only imagine what our PDG would say if he got to visit that festival this year.  I'm sure it would go something like this:

 "Yellow flowers! Daff-i-dils! Flowers! Oh gosh! Yellow flowers! Daff-i-dils! Tulips!"

Smell the Flowers

Sometimes we have bad days.  Or nights.  Or weeks.  Or perhaps bad weeks of nights.

On those days you've just gotta remember to stop and smell the flowers.  Like PDG here.

And, thanks to my doting J-Man, like I can too at work right now.

Aren't 'just because' flowers the best?  Especially when nobody is sleeping well and the Valentine's flowers got lost in a snowstorm and the return to actually teaching five days straight is exhausting?

If only there were a beef jerky delivery so I could return the favor.  Then he could be both embarrassed and excited to receive the surprise at work.  And he could tell his coworkers "now this is how you keep a husband happy" like I explained to my self-involved, teenage 6th period students.

Maybe I'll invent that one day.  When I'm finally sleeping again.

M&N's Wedding

I'm sure I've said it before, but I love weddings!  I really do.  I love how happy everyone is.  The people getting married.  The people involved in the wedding.  The people in the audience, watching the two in love, reflecting on their own loves.

So. Much. Love.

I get all sappy at weddings.  Especially during the vows.  I can't even blame it on pregnancy this time - I'm just a softie who loves hearing people say sweet things to the person they don't ever want to live without.  Oh, and I should mention, these vows were fabulously crafted, extended metaphors on tandem biking.  Exquisite.

The other thing I love is how weddings are such a great fit for the couple.  Like, this wedding screamed M&N because it was their day.  The wedding I attended for Miss R in October had a totally different feel and was equally amazing because it screamed R&G.

Bonus points if you can find Miss F in all but one of these :)

Can I say though, I'm kinda glad I got married before all my friends started attending bunches of weddings and would have opinions one way or another about any choices I made.  Not that I'd change them.  I loved my wedding.  I just know that being me, I'd manage to worry.  Even just the anxiety of the possibility of added pressure would get me.  Which, when it comes to anxiety, it's all about perception anyway.  So yeah. Phew.  And if you're reading this and not married and one day I'll get to be invited, know that I will be oohing and ahhing no matter what decisions you make on the billion choices that go into a wedding day. Because, if you hadn't gathered, I love weddings.

So, right, back to M&N.  It was fabulous.  J-Man enjoyed the light-hearted homily that acknowledged without overstating the same-sex nature of the union.  And the oysters.  And the seared tuna.  And the fact that the dancing started full-on before the salads were even served.

I loved the dresses and the venue (which I introduced to M back when we saw Music Man there) and the way the two of them looked at each other and smiled all night.  And the photo booth.  And the mad libs.

There was just so much to love.

Above all, I got to spend the evening with three of my favorite ladies.

It was a night out that I really needed.  A chance to dress up and dance with J-Man and be carefree (except for the necessary pumping in the bathroom) and feel young.

I'm lucky that I found my someone to love and that we still feel the same, even seven years later.  I'm lucky to have sweet boys to care for, and parents who will care for them instead when I need a break.  I'm so glad to see M&N enjoy that same lucky feeling too.

Miss R's Wedding

A few weeks ago was J-Man's 30th birthday.  And like a true grown up that he now is, he unselfishly gave up the weekend for a trip to New Jersey for one of my closest high school friends' wedding. Yeah, he's pretty swell.

The trip started a bit rocky, not gonna lie.  Getting out of DC, even during a government shutdown where traffic was significantly less than usual, is always a nightmare.  Then, 295 adds its own brand of agony.  By the time we'd reached Baltimore it was like we'd been on the road forever.

We couldn't agree on a dinner location, so somewhere outside of Havre de Grace we ended up at a restaurant as the youngest customers by a good 30 years.  On the up side, PDG ran freely through the quiet establishment to the amusement of grandmas and grandpas, the servings were huge, and J-Man and I really did need a chance to decompress before the rest of the trip.

We finally arrived around 11pm, got little man settled into his crib and passed right out.

The next morning we got to see the beautiful bride, whose room was down the hall, our friend FR, also down the hall, and our friends (now engaged!!!) M and N, who somehow got placed on a totally different floor.

The G's were up before everyone else - shocker! - so we had one breakfast, and then later another with the ladies.  I think we even did a good job of not just focusing on old high school stories that bore my poor, patient husband.  We talked and talked and talked while PDG played with crayons and lights - another shocker - until we had just enough time to pretty ourselves for the big afternoon event.

Miss R, the bride, managed to plan a wedding that fit her personality and her relationship with her husband so perfectly.  That might be one of my favorite things about weddings - seeing how the personalities come through in every little selection.

Outside by a lake, as we sat on sheet-covered-hay-bails, Miss R traded vows of love and loyalty with G, in a sweet and short service.  We blew bubbles to celebrate before heading into the lodge for a cozy reception.  Pizza and beer were the appetizers - showing R's true Jersey roots - and let me tell you, that pizza was a-maz-ing.  Tortellini pizza?  Taco pizza?  BBQ chicken pizza?  Oh it was all there, and all so delicious that we forgot to save room for all the other food coming shortly thereafter.

PDG started the dance party immediately, and poked and prodded the speakers that were bigger than he was, trying to figure out just how this music was coming out.  Aside from one balance mishap leading to a little forehead carpet burn, nothing but food kept him from the dance floor all afternoon/evening.  When J-Man and I tired of dancing with him, others took over.  He even started to catch on when the chicken dance came on.

Miss R did her time on the dance floor, but as usual worried about the rest of us having a great time, as she mingled in her beautiful dress and held sweetly to her new husband.  She may not love the spotlight, but she deserved every second.

When it was time to wrap up, everyone pitched in.  Leftovers were divvied into take-home boxes, which served as perfect late night snacks.  Centerpieces were claimed, dishes returned to the kitchen, and the place was nearly cleared by the time we headed out.  Her family knows how to throw a party, and how to work together to clean one up.

Back at the hotel we talked and laughed more in FR's room until, unsurprisingly, I started to fall asleep mid-conversation.  Even though FR had just moved to DC, and M and N live here too, there's something about all being on one hall that felt like camp, or college, and we didn't want to end the socializing before we had to.

But home we came the next morning.  Back with a renewed appreciation of love and vows and marriage and family.  Back to our super cute little duplex with our super cute little toddler.  Back to less than cute jobs and alarm clocks.  But happy to have spent such a great weekend in a truly beautiful area of New Jersey with girls I've known for fifteen years and couldn't be happier to still have in my life.

Dear J-Man (5 years in)

Dear J-Man

Can you believe it's been five years since this?

Or this?

Since you promised so many sweet (and practical) things and I did the same.

And our friends danced the night away with our relatives.  So did we, of course.  So much so that my calves cramped when I finally got to sit down and eat cake in our little cottage.

Remember how happy we were?  Not, like, remember-when-things-were-great-and-now-they're-not, but, you know, remember that crazy-good and inexpressible happiness of tying your life to a person that is truly your best friend.

You really are my best friend, you know?  Sure, our beginning was unconventional.  But you had that A/C unit.  And you weren't scared to talk to me, despite me supposedly being 'standoffish.'  And if someone had told us at any point before we met that we would fall in love like we did, we would have laughed and moved on.

But somehow, we've never given up on each other.  Even when we drive each other crazy.  No matter how messy of a cook I am, and how infrequently I manage to adequately clean up from that.  No matter how loud you blast your gangsta rap.

These five years of marriage have reassured me daily that we did the right thing.  We were young.  We were a little reckless.  But J-Man, we were so happy.  I am so happy.  I don't think I could ever really tell you.

Thanks for being my baby-daddy.  My dance partner.  My chauffeur. My pop culture guru.  My pillow.  My rock.  My.... ok, it's getting sappy.  You get the point.

lovelovelove

your nicole